


More Things in Heaven and Earth

by WishIwasMeg



Category: Benton Fraser/ Margaret Thatcher, due South
Genre: F/M, Humour, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:01:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25038910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WishIwasMeg/pseuds/WishIwasMeg
Summary: Meg gets food for thought from beyond the grave.
Relationships: Ben/Meg
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5





	More Things in Heaven and Earth

**Author's Note:**

> Parker 4131970 suggested I write a story with Meg and Fraser Senior, so here it is, the product of a lockdown day.  
> References to ATQH and Perfect Strangers.

She would have him on permanent sentry duty till the Millennium! No, she would have him posted to the Arctic Circle equipped with only tropical gear! No, she would hack out his spleen with an ice pick! She would….…. Inspector Meg Thatcher paused in her mental rant to check again the figures on the sheet of paper on her desk. She wasn’t dreaming. Constable Benton Fraser’s latest escapade had resulted in a bill for damages which amounted to over fifty thousand dollars (American). Admittedly in the process he had rescued a kennel full of pedigree puppies, smashed a cross-border drugs cartel and exposed a people-trafficking ring, but the innocent householders whose properties had been trashed in the pursuit of the criminals were understandably not happy. They had presented their bill for damages to the Chicago Police Department, who, not unreasonably in their eyes since it was a joint operation, reckoned that the Canadian government should cough up half. Meg groaned at the prospect of reporting back to her superiors in Ottawa. Last time it had only been ten thousand, but HQ had led her to understand in no uncertain terms that this was absolutely the last occasion when the hard-working taxpayers of Canada would fork out for Fraser’s exploits. They had actually IMPLIED that she could not control her subordinates (the nerve of them!) and had suggested that next time Fraser’s exploits needed paying for, she should find the money out of the consulate budget. 

Almost apoplectic with rage, she grabbed the phone on her desk. “Fraser! My office! NOW!” she barked.  
He was there in seconds, and by the look of abject terror on his face, he had worked out why he had been summoned.  
“Have you seen this?” She waved the paper at him.  
“Er, no sir, I….”  
“It was a rhetorical question,” she snapped. “Twenty five thousand dollars! twenty-five thousand AMERICAN dollars! That’s what your latest little adventure with that American flatfoot is going to cost!”  
“Well, sir….”  
“Enough!” She held up a silencing hand. “What makes you think that the good citizens of the Dominion of Canada donate their hard-earned taxes to pay for American house repairs? The engineers of Edmonton; the hairdressers of Halifax; the car-dealers of Calgary; the ...the taxidermists of Tuktoyaktuk..”  
“Actually I’m not sure if Tuktoyaktuk has any taxid…” he began, but the look on her face silenced him.  
“I don’t care whether Tuktoyaktuk has taxidermists or woad-painted zookeepers! My point is that the hardworking Canadian tax payers do not work hard and pay their taxes to subsidise your..your…shenanigans with Vecchio. Do I make myself clear?”  
”Perfectly, sir.”  
“Now get out of my sight before I say something I might regret!”  
“Sir!” He came to attention and exited her office quicker than she had ever seen him go. She felt slightly better now that she had vented her anger on him, and yet…..What was it about this man that brought out the shrew in her? Deep down she had a gnawing feeling that she had been too sharp with him. He had looked like an adorable little boy caught doing something extremely naughty, his face scarlet, his eyes downcast. She had nearly, nearly, felt sorry for him. He had only been doing what he thought was right, after all. Pushing away such sympathetic musings, she gathered up her purse and car keys and headed home.

*****  
When she arrived at her apartment, she kicked off her shoes, put a kettle of water on to boil and placed a chamomile teabag in a mug on the counter ready to make a nice relaxing brew after she had changed into something casual. When she emerged from her bedroom a few minutes later, she switched off the kettle and turned to get her mug. It wasn’t there. Annoyed with herself, she started looking round and found it on a coffee table in the living room.  
“I could have sworn I left it in the kitchen,” she said to herself. Come to think of it, the same kind of thing had happened several times lately. She would put something down, then find it wasn’t where she had left it. “I must be going mad,” she thought. “Maybe this job is finally getting to me!”

She drank her tea, ate a modest salad, then settled down in the living room with some of the paperwork she had brought home. She must have fallen asleep, for when she opened her eyes, the room was freezing cold.  
“Not again!” she muttered. This was the third time that week that her apartment had been plunged into an icy cold. She had had the central heating checked but everything seemed to be in order. “I’ll have that heating engineer’s guts for garters.” was her immediate reaction.

As she stood up to go and find a sweater, she was aware of something, a kind of fog, hovering in front of her. An uncontrollable shiver shook her whole body. “What in the world….?”  
“Hello, Margaret.” A voice; a disembodied voice seemed to be emanating from the cloud.  
“I am going mad, either that or I’m asleep and this is a dream,” she thought.  
“Don’t be scared, dear,” said the voice. “You’ve no idea what an effort it’s been to get here. I’ve been practising all week, moving things about, just to see if I could do it. Don’t know if I’ve managed to materialise properly, though. Can you see me?”  
“See you?” she asked incredulously. “Who…what are you?”  
“I’m a ghost,” he replied in a matter of fact voice. “I’ll try a little bit harder and see if I can come through a bit clearer.”  
“I don’t believe in ghosts,” she said. “I must be losing my mind.”  
“There, is that better?” Now she could make out the figure of a man. Admittedly he was in shades of grey, but she could have sworn he was wearing a Mountie uniform.  
“ Your grand-dad said to say hello when he knew I was thinking of paying you a visit. He says to tell you he would have come himself, but he and your grandma are well settled and didn’t want to upset the applecart by coming back. I can’t settle, you see, until I see Benton happy.”  
“Benton?” This was turning surreal.  
“Oh yes, sorry. I should have introduced myself. Sergeant Robert Fraser RCMP. I'm Benton’s father.”  
“Fraser’s father is dead,” she heard herself saying.  
“That’s kind of the point of being a ghost,” he replied with just a hint of exasperation in his voice. “Now about you and Benton.”  
“There is no ‘me and Benton’."  
“Ah, but there should be,” said the spirit. “You were meant for each other. And if you two can’t sort things out for yourselves, then I’ll have to lend a hand. Take today in your office, for example.”  
“I beg your pardon?”  
“I saw how you tore strips off the poor boy. There was no need for that, now was there?”  
“There was every need. He cost the Canadian government thousands of dollars. He disregarded my orders about cavorting with that American detective. He…”  
“Yes, yes, but did you have to be so hard on him?”  
“I don’t believe I’m having this conversation,” she thought.  
“Have you ever asked yourself why you are so hard on him?” Fraser senior continued.  
“Because he’s the most irritating, exasperating man on the planet?” she offered.  
“Did you think he was exasperating when he was kissing the living daylights out of you on that train?”  
“How?…what….?” She was lost for words.  
“Now admit it, Margaret. You don’t mind if I call you Margaret, do you? I know you outrank me, but death is a great leveller, you know.”  
“Admit what?”  
“That you find him attractive; that you’ve fantasised about making love with him.”  
“How dare you?” she spluttered. “I’m his commanding officer. Such thoughts would be totally inappropriate.”  
“Doesn’t stop you having them, though, does it?” he asked. “The way I see it, dear, is that you are in denial. You are so much in love with him that you go overboard trying to prove to yourself and other people that you’re not in love with him by treating him like dirt. Overcompensating I think the psychiatrists call it. Now that isn’t fair to the poor boy, is it?”  
“He’s not a ‘poor boy’. He’s a grown man.”  
“Yes and a mighty attractive one, if you don’t mind a proud father saying so.”  
“Well, yes, I have to admit that he’s tremendously good-looking. I’d have to be dead not to notice that. Oh, sorry, no offence intended.”  
“None taken,” he replied. “So are you going to marry him and give me grandchildren?”  
“Now just hold on,” said Meg. “I think we’re getting a little bit ahead of ourselves here. I’ve no reason to think he even likes me. The way I treat him, he ought to hate my guts.”  
“Oh but he doesn’t. He loves you. I know you had that little misunderstanding about adopting a child a while back, but that was mainly my fault. I encouraged him to go in with those flowers, but he really meant it. Why adopt a child when you can have one of your own? You’re both pretty good-looking. Just imagine how cute your kids will be; and smart. You might even produce a future Prime Minister of Canada between you. Now that would give me real kudos on the other side.”

Meg thought for a bit, then said slowly, “Even if you’re right and we did love each other, not that I’m saying that we do, there’s the slight difficulty about RCMP regulations on the subject.”  
“Wasn’t a problem in my day,” said Bob, “but then there weren’t any female officers to fall in love with in my day. The way I see it is this. You get married, you apply for positions where you aren’t his commanding officer; problem solved. If Ottawa doesn’t like it, tell them to lump it. You are both much too good at your jobs for the Force to kick you out for getting married.”  
“Do you think it’s that simple?” she asked incredulously. “I never thought about it like that, but then I never thought about the possibility of marrying him.”  
“Do you want to marry him?”  
“Oh yes, but he’ll never ask me.”  
“Leave it with me, dear. I’ll see what I can do. Well, it’s been lovely talking to you. Must go now and have a word with Benton.”  
The fog vanished and the room felt warm again. 

*****

Meg Thatcher wondered if she had dreamt it all. As she entered the consulate the next morning, all seemed perfectly normal. Constable Cooper was on sentry duty, Constable Turnbull was manning the reception desk and Constable Fraser was in his office. She tapped softly on the door and he sprang to attention. “Fraser, I would like to see you in my office in ten minutes.”  
Promptly Fraser knocked on her door, entered and stood at attention before her desk. “At ease, Constable!” She tried smiling at him, but he steadfastly refused to meet her gaze.  
“Constable, I want to apologise.” She could hardly believe she was saying the words. “I was a bit harsh with you yesterday. I had a bad day and the compensation claim was the last straw. I’m sorry if I come over as a bit hard on you sometimes, but I want you to know that I have the greatest respect for you as a police officer.”  
Now he was looking at her. “What about as a man?”  
“What?”  
“My father told me about your little talk. Is it true, Meg? Do you love me?”  
“Yes,” she said simply and before she knew what was happening, he had her in his arms and was kissing her as if his life depended on it.They only drew apart at the sound Constable Turnbull made as he entered his boss’s office and fell into a dead faint at the sight of his two superior officers locked in a passionate embrace. Then they went back to the kissing. Bob Fraser stepped through the prone figure on the floor and smiled broadly, but the two lovers were much too busy to notice.


End file.
